


Historically Correct

by Eryn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, Historical Reenactment, M/M, Oral Sex, Roleplay, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn/pseuds/Eryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has a passion for historic reenactment, but Mycroft has no interest in participating. Until he feels his position is Gregory's life is threatened. He quite enjoys the outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Historically Correct

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the latest kink-bingo amnesty challenge for this prompt [here](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/412590.html?thread=3301294)
> 
> might be set in the same verse as 'Close to Home' but stands completely independant

The first time Gregory had suggested it, Mycroft had refused on the principle of the thing. After all he did not, had never done and would never do leg work. Thus there was no way he was going to drive to a hovel an hour out of London to visit some country fair with Gregory.

The second time Gregory had brought it up he'd also played the 'I would consider it a personal favour'-card. Mycroft had refused again, insisting the British Government couldn't just take a vacation like that. No matter what Gregory thought he still had work to do after all.

The third time Gregory had mentioned it, he'd insisted that a minor government official could at least take a few hours off on a day that was also a public holiday. And in return Gregory would accompany him to the dreaded vernissage he'd fought tooth and nails.  
So Mycroft had relented and promised he'd come to visit.

Now, on Easter Sunday, he regretted his weakness. The sun was glaring down on him, his shirt stuck to his skin as he sweated in his waist-coat. He was clutching his umbrella tightly and hoped the line might advance more quickly so he could get in the shade provided by the big tress on the meadow ahead. White tents covered the first 100 meter of it followed by neat lines of white booths, all made from heavy canvas fabric, surrounded by people of all age and gender.

When he finally made it to the front and paid his fare he was more than ready to go home. With disdain he looked down at the black stamp marring the back of his hand. Gregory would have quite a bit of making up to do once he got him home. For now however he was summarily pushed back into a different era.

As soon as he'd made it past the bouncer the air changed completely, giving it a different feel altogether. Around him young and old was walking and staring, mingling with the linen clad people reenacting their shared history.

Mycroft felt even more out of place than he usually did. Every other day he was simply looked at as the aloof guy with a penchant for proper clothes. But here, he was an oddity amongst reenactors on the one side and spectators on the other. His hand clenched on his umbrella as he advanced into the camp. Normally he would have turned around already. But he had promised Gregory to at least visit him. And he would not go back on the promise when he'd already got himself sun-burnt waiting to get inside. He would just go and say hi and then he could retreat to his limousine and get back to London.

Carefully he moved through the camp, easily dodging any person coming his way, neatly sidestepping running children and heaps of armour drying in the sun in front of the tents. The effect of all that, mixed with the historically dressed people gave quite a stunning effect. But Mycroft couldn't appreciate it. He didn't see how it could be fulfilling to give up all modern niceties in favour of open fire cooking and sleeping in the dirt.

He couldn't understand how Gregory could willingly spend his free weekends sleeping in tents and carrying buckets of water from a well to his tent just so he could have breakfast, how he could chop wood when it was needed to keep the fire going until dinner was made. He just couldn't see the appeal.

That changed immediately when he sidestepped a woman dressed in linen dress - hand sewn, though she'd never admit it because only freaks did this by hand - and holding a toddler to her chest - girl, recently had the flu - and finally spotted his lover.

Gregory was sitting on a wooden bench covered in furs, dressed in a thick gambeson and chain mail, a colourful tunic over it, while not one but two athletic twenty somethings dressed in beige linen were kneeing in front of him lacing his boots.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed and his grip tightened further. He could feel the wood creaking beneath his fingers and he wanted to turn around immediately at the implication. No wonder Gregory enjoyed these weekends so much. But why get Mycroft here? Why rub his dissatisfaction in his face. Because while the boys did up his boots Gregory was laughing and joking with them, his face showing a smile that Mycroft had believed belonged to him exclusively.

Before he could turn around however, Gregory spotted him and jumped up. The inspector seemed to completely disregard Mycroft's discomfort as he came almost running over, wrapping his arms around the stock still form of his lover.

Mycroft did his best not to flinch away when Gregory wrapped himself around him. He smelled pleasantly of sweat and fire and linen - slept close to the fire for warmth - and the thick clothes and layer of metal made their touch more distant.

"You made it", Gregory said, nose pressed to the other's neck, inhaling the strong scent of Mycroft's aftershave.

"Yes. I think however I might best be going again.", he said stiffly, waiting for Gregory to finally let him go so he could get home and lick his wounds in peace.

"No, no no. I finally got you here, so you will not run away already", Gregory insisted, stepping back even though his hands stayed on Mycroft's arms. When he saw the discomfort in the other's eyes he frowned.  
"What makes you think you should leave, My?", the inspector asked firmly, voice falling into the easy commanding pattern he assumed while on the job. Or in bed with his lover.

Mycroft sighed, unable to resist his lover's voice, much too well conditioned to say anything but the truth now. He still lowered his gaze before he replied, not wanting to be faced with Gregory's disappointment or anger.  
"It is obvious that you are already well tended to and have found a much more pleasant group of servants. I am not necessary here", he said firmly. He was not going to do something embarrassing here, but he wasn't going to stand back and watch others wait on Gregory.

Gregory sighed and let his hands slip down to Mycroft's wrists where they were still clasping his umbrella.  
"I needed help getting my shoes tied because I forgot to do it before I put on the mail. It was nothing more than that. I've been training these boys for years now. I'm like a father for them and they do it to be helpful, not to get in my pants.", he insisted, gradually tightening his hold and the younger man's wrists. They normally didn't do this outdoors, did in fact rarely do it outside of their bedroom, but it still had the desired effect. Mycroft's hands were relaxing gradually until they merely steadied the umbrella, keeping it from falling over.  
"I would never seek to replace you, My. But if you wish to replace them, it can be arranged", he said teasingly, voice low and full of anticipation.

#

Mycroft didn't know just what had possessed him to agree, but he had done it and let Gregory lead him over to a medium size tent. The ground was covered in furs and blankets and it was quite warm. But Mycroft didn't mind because as soon as they were inside and Gregory had closed then tent flap his Master's hands were on him, taking the umbrella and leaning it against the tent wall, unbuttoning his waistcoat and pushing it down his shoulders, undoing his necktie and then his dress-shirt, bareing the thin silver-chain he wore every day, the one with the tiny lock at the back that kept him grounded even in the greatest crisis.  
Mycroft knew his participation was not expected and in fact not even wanted now as he let the older man undress him. His undershirt followed his dress-shirt and then Gregory was crouching in front of him to undo his shoes, pulling them off along with his socks. Then he was up again and undid belt and fly so he could pull down Mycroft's pants and underwear, letting them pool around his ankles.

Mycroft shivered as he stood naked in front of his Master, the older man's hands confidently stroking over his hips and sides, caressing his soft stomach and then sliding up his chest. He could feel his eyes slip shut as he relaxed in the familiar touch, not caring about where they were. The redundant systems were shutting down as his world narrowed down to the man in front of him, who'd earned his devotion years ago.

But before he could settled completely Gregory stepped back and walked over to a duffel leaning against the back wall.  
Mycroft opened his eyes and watched the older man rummage around in it before standing up with a heap of clothes in his arms. Apparently the older had planned this in advance, but Mycroft found he didn't care much as Gregory helped him dress, explaining along the way how to wear the white undershirt stuck into his brown linen pants, and yes, there was no underwear because it was historically inaccurate. He helped Mycroft straighten the tunic, matching his own in colour and shape, and taught him to tie his belt correctly. He even reminded Mycroft of putting his wallet and phone into the leather pouches dangling from the belt.

Even though Gregory wasn't even touching him much it felt very intimate. Almost as if he was initiated, taught to be part of this side of Gregory. He listened closely and then knelt to put on the wool socks. They were rough and scratchy, but he didn't complain. Instead he put on a set of brown leather shoes. Everything was a perfect fit and when he rose he could see Gregory eyeing him appreciatively. He wondered briefly what it was his Master was so pleased with. Seeing him giving in to his wishes, seeing him dressed as his servant, or planning forward to undressing him again.  
Then he remembered that without his customary tie his neck was bare and the open v of his shirt displayed his collar. Smiling softly he raised one hand to the warm metal. He could see Gregory follow the motion with his eyes, licking his lips when Mycroft stroked one finger over the chain.

"Do I pass inspection, sire?", Mycroft asked, knowing full well what effect his words combined with a lowered gaze could have on the older. But Gregory restrained himself from doing anything right now and simply nodded.

"Yes. You look quite stunning, My. But I need to go out and make sure everyone is ready. The tournament will start in half an hour and it wouldn't do for me to be late because you were distracting me", he said with a smile. Nonetheless he leaned in and placed a kiss on Mycroft's lips, arms going around his lover to keep him upright as he deepened it for an instant. When he pulled back Mycroft's eyes were pleasantly unfocused and he was smiling at Gregory warmly.

"Yes, sire. What would you have me do while you are out?", he asked, licking his lips to chase the taste of Gregory.

The inspector smiled and leaned down to pick up a shawl which he handed to Mycroft.

"Wrap this around your neck. Then you will come out and find a place to watch us fight.", he instructed and Mycroft nodded, taking the cloth and carefully draping it around his neck.

"Yes, sire. Anything else?"

Gregory shook his head and went to open the tent flap again.

"You are to enjoy yourself. After the tournament I will have more to do for you", he said before stepping out into the bright afternoon sun.

Mycroft watched him leave and took a few moments to compose himself. He felt weird in the thin linen clothes, the loose tunic giving no protection against the air. It made him feel exposed in a way his suits never did. And the fact that he was still half-hard and without anything to hold him didn't help him feel more secure. But he'd been given as task, so after taking a minute to sort his discarded clothes, folding them and neatly stacking them in a corner, he stepped outside. It was, if possible, even warmer now, but the linen was no match for the breeze so his skin could cool down. His hands felt bare without the umbrella, but he knew it would ruin the picture. Thus he simply folded his hands in front of his body, holding onto one with the other as he made his way to the taped off area where the fighting would begin soon.

He found a spot next to the woman with the child. Another, a boy of about 5, was standing in front of her, talking rapidly as the participants were lining up at one side of the yard.

Mycroft smiled indulgently when in his enthusiasm the boy stumbled and almost fell over his feet, but then Gregory lead his team of 10 young men to the line. The world around bled away, the input dying down to a trickle, enough to keep him aware of his surroundings but nothing more. Everything else was inconsequential as he watched Gregory, now with a sword at his side and a shield in his hand, bringing his boys in line with the other's. He was being his masterly self and easily leading them into position and through the rounds of the fights while doing some masterful fighting of his own.  
It was heady and time and again Mycroft found his hand go up to his shawl, slipping beneath it to touch his collar, remind him that in the end it would be him on the receiving end of that focus, him that Gregory would put in place, him that would be kneeling in front of the older.

Nonetheless by the end of the fight he was aroused and angry, seething inwardly as Gregory shouted at the boys to hold formation, to advance, to guard and to charge. They were good, well trained, but they were not him.  
At last however the torture was over.  
The audience was clapping and cheering and the fighters were forming a circle in the middle for some kind of debriefing before they separated again, groups heading back to their camps while others took to sparring.

Mycroft followed Gregory with his eyes and then made his way back to the older man's side.

#

When he made his way back to Gregory's side the older man had just send off the last of his pupils to get out of their heavy armour. They were all sweaty and exhausted and Mycroft didn't hesitate to get Gregory a cup of water even before he asked for it, holding it out once Gregory sat down on the bench.

"You have fought well, sire", he said warmly, voice heavy with praise and pleasure. Gregory's eyes were twinkling as he took in his lover's lightly flushed features and the way his tunic was slightly tented out. Reaching forward with his free hand he grabbed Mycroft's hip and pulled him closer, letting the other stand between his spread legs.

"That I have. And you did well to watch it all. Did you enjoy yourself?", he asked and Mycroft nodded in return.

"Yes. I quite enjoyed seeing you lead, sire. Though it was dissatisfactory to not be able to follow you", he replied cheekily, which made the older laugh.

"Well then I think I have just the instruction for you to follow, My", he said playfully, lightly tugging on the side of Mycroft's pants.

The younger went to his knees easily, grinning up at the older.

"What would you have me do, sire?", he asked, looking up at Gregory with a broad smile. He was vaguely aware of a pair of eyes watching them, but he pushed it away when Gregory placed his foot in his lap. He had to hold back a gasp because the pressure came painfully close to his crotch, but Gregory pretended not to notice.

"As you seemed so envious of the boys earlier, you can start by unlacing my boots, My", he instructed and then send a firm look to the youth watching a little too close as Mycroft set to undo his boots. He didn't care what the younger thought of them, what he thought he knew about their relationship, but he wouldn't let him ruin this easy banter, this easy back and forth and the pleasure of having Mycroft with him here, like this, not caring about wind and sun. His young lover was simply being for once, relaxing into the task of untying leather laces and freeing his Master's feet from his shoes. Then Mycroft pulled off the socks and was about to start on the knots holding the pants close at the side when Gregory had to stop him.

"Come up and help me out of the mail", he said warmly, straightening his back when Mycroft did just that, opening the belt first and then pulling off tunic and chain mail. Next came the gambeson and once Gregory was only dressed in his pants he rose and helped Mycroft lay them out in the sun. Then he lead the younger back into the tent, making sure to close the flap and do up the ties that would tell everyone he wanted to be left alone.

When he turned around again Mycroft had removed the shawl and undone the belt, dropping both to the side. Gregory approved of the idea and walked over to his cot, sitting down again on the thick furs serving as his bedding.

"Come here, My", he ordered softly, watching with dark eyes as the younger advanced, looking beautiful and debauched in his loose clothes, crotch tented and pupils blown wide in the dim light. Mycroft came over and knelt again without prompting, shuffling into the space between Gregory's spread thighs, waiting for further instructions, which Gregory was all to happy to give.  
"Undo my pants", he ordered, reclining on his elbows while his eyes followed Mycroft's fingers moving up the outside of his legs, opening tie after tie meticulously before he could finally fold the cloth away and pull it down, leaving Gregory naked in front of him.

Mycroft let his eyes roam freely over Gregory's body, taking in the bruises and abrasions from the weekend's fights. Without hesitation he leaned in and placed soft kisses on bruised skin, tasting salty sweat as he licked lines from abrasion to abrasion. Soon Gregory's hands caught his head and guided him from soothing touches to arousing nips and Mycroft focused his attention on his Master's nipples when Gregory guided him there. He hummed his enjoyment as he was dragged around, letting the older use him as a conduit of pleasure, using his lips and tongue and teeth to caress whatever spot Gregory chose.  
Finally Gregory guided his head down and Mycroft opened his mouth wide as he was pushed down onto the older man's cock. His fists clenched on his thighs as he was guided through the familiar motions, sucking and licking as he listened to Gregory moan and gasp quietly above him while he bobbed his head.

Gregory's eyes were half closed with pleasure, but even when he felt Mycroft's throat tighten around his cock he couldn't take his eyes off the other. He looked positively divine here, dressed in Greg's colours, wrapped in linen because he had provided it, looking every inch the humble servant, face the picture of bliss as he served his master. Greg could feel himself grow closer and closer to the edge with every move his lover made, every little shift aimed to bring him maximum pleasure. Finally it became all too much and he pulled Mycroft's face down into his lap so he could spill down his lover's throat.

When he allowed Mycroft to come up again the younger was flushed and breathing hard, hands clenching in the fabric of his pants, pulling it taunt over his hard cock. Gregory grinned and petted his lover's hair as Mycroft looked up at him with naked vulnerable eyes.

"Please, sire", Mycroft whispered, hips rocking into the air while his head lightly rubbed against the older man's hold on it.

"What do you want, My?", Gregory asked, feeling pleasantly sated. Of course the sight of Mycroft all but humping the air was quite arousing and he wouldn't mind watching the younger like this some more, but he also knew it would be a while until he could get it up again, so he decided against unnecessary cruelty.

"Please allow me release", he asked, shivering when Gregory sat up and reached down to open his pants with his free hand.

"You've done quite well, My", Gregory said, leaning forward so he could place a kiss on his lover's neck. One hand was still in the younger's hair while the other was busy undoing Mycroft's pants, pushing them down so he could wrap his hand around his hard cock. As soon as he did Mycroft stopped moving. He just whined softly in the back of his throat when Gregory began moving his hand up and down, his mouth busy kissing and licking his neck, leaning down to inhale the younger's scent, nuzzling the necklace and the linen neckline, nosing his way underneath it so he could begin to suck and bite a mark onto creamy skin while his hand picked up speed. Mycroft was gasping and moaning now, rocking involuntary, only to subside again when Gregory tightened his hold painfully.

"Be still, boy", he hissed into Mycroft's ear, biting it playfully. "You will stay still and quiet or you'll not come until I have you back home and begging for it", he growled, smiling broadly when he felt Mycroft fight the moan in response to the words. His lover enjoyed being helpless in front of him, loved being threatened with dire consequences and Gregory enjoyed seeing the younger man struggle to obey, to stay still and quiet.  
It was especially rewarding to see his usually so self-composed lover fight his own body when Gregory picked up the pace of his jerking and started sucking a new mark into place right beneath his collar.

Mycroft, of course, was digging his trimmed nails into his thighs as he fought for control, keeping his body in check while his arousal climbed higher and higher, head tilted to the side to give his Master the best access. He was quite proud of himself when he only moaned voicelessly when his release overtook him, hips perfectly still as his cock pulsed in his master's hand.  
He could feel his body go lax as Gregory sat back, one hand in his hair the only thing holding him upright. He didn't fight it when his Master pushed sticky fingers past his unresisting lips. There were, after all, no convenient sheets to wipe them on and he'd never want to ruin the soft furs with his release. Instead he cleaned his Master's fingers and didn't fight it when afterwards he was pulled up onto the cot. He just rested his head in Gregory's lap and relaxed, feeling rough fingers caress his shoulder and head, soothing him as his pulse calmed.

Mycroft could feel himself doze off, but for once he didn't try to fight it. He was warm and safe and his sire was watching over him.  
He hummed softly and curled up in the furs that smelled of his Master when Gregory slipped out beneath him. He knew he should get up and help his Master dress again, but Gregory just leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"Sleep, My. I'll come get you when it's time for dinner", he instructed and Mycroft nodded, mumbling something that was supposed to be a 'yes sire' before he fell asleep.


End file.
